Latexfree, Cashpointfree, Dignityfree
by IShouldBeOverThis
Summary: Written for the Mystrade Fanworks Festival - Prompt: 10. "You had a row with a machine" Mystrade style, Greg dashes to the store in the middle of the night to buy some things.


'Fucking, bloody, sodding, buggery hell,' thought Greg Lestrade, DI and commended officer of Scotland Yard, famous for solving several high profile cases. By all accounts, a well-respected, well-liked and capable man.

Who was currently standing in a Sainsbury's at one in the morning sans money, debit cards, credit cards or magic wands.

He was also wearing a trench coat over a t-shirt and track pants, and trainers with no socks. The only reason he had his keys was because his door didn't lock automatically behind him.

His lover, Mycroft Holmes, Mycroft bloody, sodding, bloody Holmes, was waiting for him.

In bed.

Naked (though he might have put on a dressing gown by now, or turned up the heat).

'Please God, don't let him have left in disgust,' thought Greg.

Because, really—who remembers that their lover likes chocolate digestives, but not that he has a latex allergy?

Greg fucking Lestrade, that's who. Although Greg would not be doing any fucking tonight, if he didn't figure out the problem of money and get home to his, by now, bored and irate lover.

'Detective Inspector Lestrade caught shoplifting condoms at Sainsbury's at three in the morning,' the headlines would proclaim. Well, no—it would probably be something more like 'DECORATED DETECTIVE STEALS CONDOMS FOR SEX ORGY.' Mycroft could probably make it go away, but Greg was not going to break the law. Not just for sex.

Sex with Mycroft.

His tall, slim, handsome, imaginative, well-endowed lover…

No, no, no. Absolutely not. If nothing else, somehow, some way it would get back to his beautiful lover's little brother.

And then Greg Lestrade's life wouldn't be worth living.

Could he beg? But then that would be a great headline too. 'DI PANHANDLING FOR SEX.'

Yeah, screwed. Or rather not screwed, depending on how one looked at it.

"DI Lestrade?"

Great, now he'd been recognized.

He started to turn towards the speaker but they stopped him, "No! Don't turn around. Keep looking at the boxes of tea."

This was getting strange. He knew that Mycroft was involved in a lot of things, but surely they weren't going to kidnap a policeman in the middle of a grocery store.

"We know what you need. Leave the store and go to the corner. Look in the third newspaper box. There's a bag for you. Go. Now."

By the time he turned around, the speaker was gone.

It went against his instincts but by this point being kidnapped seemed preferable to returning empty handed. There, in the third newspaper stand, was a plain, brown paper bag. Inside were two boxes of latex-free condoms, three different varieties of hypoallergenic lubricants and a box of chocolate digestives.

Well, a sodding great fuck you to whoever owed Mycroft this for the embarrassment and a great big, fucking, bloody, buggery thank you for the fact that he would, in fact, be doing said fucking after all.

"You took your time," Mycroft said. He was still naked; still in bed, reading one of Greg's books, _On Her Majesty's Secret Service_.

"Yes, well..." Greg dropped the brown paper bag on the bed and started to shed his clothes, toeing off his trainers and pulling off his t-shirt. "Making comments in the margins? Wrong!"

"Don't be absurd, Greg. I would never deface a book like that. Particularly a first edition paperback as this appears to be. No, you're right; I don't normally indulge in the spy genre."

"Yes, well you have the entire Simenon in your bedroom, so...tit for tat," answered Greg, sliding into bed and taking the book from Mycroft's hands.

"Touché, my dear." He leant into Greg's kiss. "Now, let's see what goodies you've brought me." He reached for the brown bag.

Greg looked across the room to where his wallet lay on the dresser.

"My?"

"Hm? Oh, I like this brand."

"Did you make a call?

Mycroft looked at the blanket for a moment, then back up at Greg. "I saw you'd left it after you shut the door. I'd have gone after you, but I thought the sight of me running naked down the street might shock your neighbors. I know you hate my abusing my...resources as you put it, but... Well, I didn't want you to have to come back and go back out again. The night is not young, and neither are we."

Greg smiled, and kissed Mycroft again. "And did you tell Anthea to go with a cloak and dagger routine?"

Mycroft tossed his head back and laughed. "First, it wasn't Anthea. She doesn't work twenty-four hours a day. She's not a robot. No, it was Aurora. She used to be in the field. I believe that she may miss it. You must tell me what she did."

"My?"

"Hm?"

"Later."

"Oh, yes!"


End file.
